New York City Serenade
by sparkletasia
Summary: An unsub on the loose in New York City leads Reid into an encounter with an old friend. But years have passed and neither of them are the same people they once were. Old wounds are resurfacing, and the bodycount's only getting higher...
1. New York City Serenade

_Author's Note: So this story has been a long time coming! I've been toying with the idea for about a year, but I've kept putting it off. I'm really invested in it, so I've always said that if I was going to write it, I was going to do it right! It's set in the 'current' era, if you will. And finally it's for all the lovely readers and reviewers of Lost in London (which was my baby for such a long time), and for my lovely board friends who are just the best little community going._

**New York City Serenade**

**Chapter One: New York City Serenade**

'_It's midnight in Manhattan, this is no time to get cute  
>It's a mad dog's promenade<br>So walk tall… or baby don't walk at all'_

Spencer knew he was probably being unprofessional, but he couldn't help himself. Back at the station he had overheard Melissa Stanson's parents mention the service, and ever since the idea had been floating in the back of his mind. Was he overstepping a professional boundary? He didn't usually go to the memorial services for the victims in their cases, but the case was going nowhere and he found himself at a loose end for the night. Before he could stop to think about it, he'd found himself looking up directions to the church. This was a hard case, perhaps it was his brain searching for a catharsis of sorts. For whatever reason, Reid found himself slipping, shadow thin as always, through the slowly darkening streets of New York City.

Squinting through the light fog, he looked around at the street bathed in spots of orange light. Was this the place? He had memorised the map before his way here, but it was hard to know with the descending mist obscuring his vision. A clump of black-clad people hustled past him, and he followed them through an arching doorway into the slightly warmer building. A banner proclaimed it to be The Church of St Jude. _The patron saint of lost causes. _Trust him to know that.

The scent of incense hung heavy on the air, and to Reid it was obvious that he was very late. Probably caused by his indecision over whether or not to attend. _Right, I'll just listen to this last bit, light a candle, and leave._ Hopefully none of his co-workers would notice he'd gone; it was hard enough trying to explain to himself why he was here. He couldn't exactly say he'd felt drawn there for some unknown reason, he could feel their sharp sideways looks already. No, it would be better that he just kept this to himself. He nestled back into the pew, and let the priest's words wash over him in hushed, soporific tones. He stared idly at the intricate cross and the shadows it cast in the flickering candlelight. He recited bible verses that scenes in the stained glass windows depicted, tried anything and everything to avoid going over the facts of the case again. The pictures flashed through Spencer's mind, oddly distorted. Laddered tights. Blood staining cream carpets. A vase, broken in the struggle. The familiar unease stirred in his stomach… it didn't matter how many of these cases he dealt with, it never failed to affect him in some way. _At least I'm not too jaded._ He attempted to distract himself once more, staring at the flowers intently, giving each its Latin name._ Dianthus caryophyllus, Lilium, Rosa…_

A sudden jostling from the pews around him suggested that the service was over. Unfolding his spidery limbs, Reid rose to his feet and headed towards the candles, situated in an alcove towards the door. Wax dripped from the taper and stung his fingertips as he bent to light one. Reid stood for a minute watching the flames dance and frolic; it was as though they were alive. In a manner of speaking they were, more so than the women they had come here for. A deep sigh filled his lungs, the familiar regret rising. _If only we'd been here sooner. _

Caught up in his own head once more, he bumped into somebody as they both tried to leave through the congested entrance.

"Sorry." He mumbled to the woman he'd knocked. It was claustrophobic in the thick, perfumed air, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. Lack of food and sleep probably, he hadn't eaten since they'd landed first thing this morning; they'd been on the go since landing. He really should try and find something on the way back, he still had to try and slip past his team in the hotel, and hope they hadn't noticed he'd ever left.

"It's fine." The woman's voice was low, slightly sultry. It seemed to tug something at the back of his mind, it gave him a feeling similar to the one where you know that you were going to say something, but have forgotten exactly what. A nagging of sorts. Reid turned to glance at her, only to find that she was staring at him, open mouthed. A beat, a mere split second to take in the sharp jaw line and heavy lidded eyes, before recognition struck.

"Elle?"


	2. Landed

_Author's Note: Hello all! Just a couple of things before we get to the story. I forgot to mention last week that each chapter is named after a song, and has lyrics from it at the beginning. Last week was 'New York Serenade' by Bruce Springsteen, and this week is 'Landed' by Ben Folds. Bit of a longer chapter this week, most will be more like this length than last weeks. Last but not least I want to thank everyone for the fantastic reviews, story favourites, alerts, everything. It meant a lot to me, especially as the site seemed to break JUST after I posted it! Anyway, less chat, more story right? TO CHAPTER TWO!_

**Chapter Two: Landed**

'_If you wrote me off I'd understand it_

_Because I've been on some other planet_

_So come pick me up..._

_I've landed'_

"Reid?"

For once in his life, he found himself utterly lost for words. Shock had completely flooded his system, and it was leaving little room for any other processes. Such as breathing.

"Reid, what're you _doing _here?"

"I could ask you the same question!" he replied, with a slightly indignant squeak, kicking himself inwardly at the childishness of the response. One glimpse of his former colleague and it was as though he was 24 again. He_ had_ liked to think that five years on he was a little less socially awkward. Obviously not. Reid became suddenly aware of just how hot it was in the church, and his head swam with a growing combination of incense and disbelief.

"I…" Noticing the looks they were garnering, she grabbed his elbow and began to drag him out towards the street. Agent or not, Elle certainly hadn't lost her touch. Frogmarched outside, he skidded to a stop on the slippery sidewalk where they stood in silence for a minute, oblivious to the streams of mourners passing them. He could feel her eyes raking over him, as if to make sure that he was real and not some sort of hallucination. The feeling was mutual. Reid had had absolutely no idea where Elle had gone when she left, there'd been no forwarding address and Garcia had refused to track her. _New York would make sense, _Reid thought, _but the population of this city is eight million, three hundred and ninety one thousand, and eight hundred and eighty one. _What were the odds of this happening? He fought back the urge to calculate them and broke the silence.

"Elle, I… Seriously, why are you here?" There were so many questions running thick and fast through his head, tumbling one on top of the other. He was conscious of the fact that standing here now, actually seeing her… it felt like no time at all had passed. _Just as if nothing had ever happened. _But of course, everything had happened, and now they were virtual strangers. He struggled to register this against the flood of memories escaping from the boxes he had neatly packed them away in.

She pointed at the memorial program pinned to the notice board. A woman smiled benignly out at them, her eyes focused on something in the distance, something in the past. With a jolt Spencer recognised her as Melissa Stanson, the third victim.

"Melissa is," she stiffened, almost imperceptibly "was a very close friend." Her eyes narrowed into that piercing glare he'd seen so many times before, and often been the subject of. "Are you working this as a case?"

Spencer knew he probably shouldn't tell her. But what was the point of keeping his mouth shut? It had been a rhetorical question, Elle knew exactly what had brought him here; it seemed that she wanted confirmation more than anything. He couldn't exactly lie his way out of it and if the two had been that close, she'd find out soon enough. He'd never been able to fool her.

"Um… yeah. We just arrived this morning." This was surreal. Was he really talking shop with Elle Greenaway, who had fled all their lives, without so much as a backwards glance? Who hadn't even said goodbye, who had left _everything_ unsaid? Who had quite possibly betrayed everything they stood for as a team, as a family? Nobody would ever dare say as much, but he knew what the rest of the team had thought. Carefully, Spencer looked at her, taking in the changes. She looked different somehow, a little older (not that he'd dare say it). Still sharp as a tack and not afraid to beat a little ass though. Long brown hair hung around her thin shoulders, and she was dressed in mourning black.

She sighed, and Reid could almost feel its weight. She crossed her arms. Uncrossed her arms. Crossed them again.

"This is weird."

"Really weird." Spencer's blood was beginning to heat, the memories of what she'd put them through rising. He'd been so worried for her, riddled with it. JJ and Garcia had each other to lean on, and had never been that close to Elle in the first place. Hotch had shut down completely about the topic and Morgan had begun acting as though she'd never existed. Gideon had been… well, Gideon. Sage, wise and entirely unhelpful. How could Reid ever even begin articulate his frustration, even begin to give voice to the worry, the sadness, the sheer guilt he had felt at the loss of his colleague?

The numbness had worn off, and his anger was rising. How could she be so calm? Reid opened his mouth in a vain attempt to speak his mind. He was cut off however, by Elle muttering something in Spanish under her breath, checking her watch.

"Shit, I'm late. Look, I've got to run. Take this" she proffered a business card, "and call me tomorrow. Promise? We'll talk then." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off into the night, leaving a gaping Reid in her wake.

* * *

><p>After a fitful nights sleep, Reid really needed his coffee that morning. Whilst concocting a pot of what Garcia often joked was the 'elixir of life' around the BAU, he could feel Morgan's stare boring a hole in his back. Spencer had been pointedly ignoring his glances all morning, but he knew he couldn't get away with feigning ignorance from his co-worker for much longer. Right on cue, the big man clapped him on the shoulder, and Reid's mug went flying. <em>Derek really doesn't know his own strength<em>, he thought whilst rolling his eyes at the man in question. Really, his team were fantastic but would a bit of personal space once in a while kill anyone?

"Sorry, man." His trademark lazy grin spreading over his face, Morgan grabbed a tea towel and began helping Reid mop up. "Here, take mine." He passed a mug over to Reid, who stared into its depths in dismay. Morgan took his coffee black and bitter, the complete opposite to him. He leaned over to grab the milk and sugar, in an attempt to salvage the peace offering.

"Thanks."

Morgan shrugged it off. "Sorry I threw yours all over the station. Hey, where'd you get to last night? I didn't hear you coming in 'til late. Off gallivanting with New York women were we?"

Reid concentrated on fixing his coffee. "In a manner of speaking." He muttered darkly, walking off before Morgan could press him for more information. Elle's card was burning a hole in his wallet, but he couldn't tell the others about last night yet. Not until he'd sorted out his own feelings about it, or at least talked to Elle properly. But as much as the unexpected encounter was playing on his mind, it had to be pushed aside. Today was business as usual for the BAU, and he owed it to the victims to focus fully on their cases.

Hotch was already holding court over by the whiteboard in the corner, dealing with a couple of reporters. Seaver and Rossi were scouring recent reports for any other crimes that fit the pattern, and Morgan was on the phone, flirting up a storm with Garcia whilst he waited for her to track a license plate. Reid slid into a chair and began flicking through the stack of reports; knocking out three in the time it was taking Rossi to do one. It wasn't often that he relished being different, but speed reading was undeniably handy when it came to the mountains of paperwork they were required to read through. Ignoring the jealous look Dave shot at him, he raised his eyes to the board. Filled with crime scene photos, theories and lists of evidence, what really stuck out to him were the three photos of the women, alive and well. Gemma Thorne, Janie Smith and now Melissa Stanson had all been attractive blondes in their early to mid thirties, two were married and Melissa had had a small child. The team had been called in shortly after the discovery of her body, brutally stabbed to death. The third in as many weeks.

"Y'know, the amount of overkill we're looking at… This seems personal." Rossi mused, leaning back in his chair. Seaver set down the report that she'd been studying intently, seemingly glad for the change of tack.

"But we haven't found any overlap in their lives." She chewed absent-mindedly on the end of a pen. "So how could it be?" Rossi let the question hang, and Reid knew he was waiting to see her answer.

"I mean, they all fit a 'type'. Blonde, professional, thirties. Married, happily as far as we can tell. Could he be taking out his rage towards a woman fitting that description on the victims?"

Reid nodded. "It's possible. For instance Karl Arnold killed seemingly unrelated families, but to him they represented the wife and children who had just left him, as well as his own abusive father.'

Rossi made a note, and Reid watched as Seaver attempted to repress a smile at getting the answer right. There'd been a lot of gossip in the bull pen about the brand new agent, and how she'd scored a place in one of the FBI's most elite units. Majority claimed that it was all because of who her father was, but there was a nasty faction whispering that she'd slept her way up. Reid snorted at the thought of straitlaced Hotch secretly offering promotions for sexual favours. No, he knew that Emily had seen something in the girl, and he fully intended to honour that. She was working hard, whenever they weren't on a case she had another textbook in her hand, old case files piled high on her desk. More than once he'd run into her on the Metro, heading to the university for a psych lecture. Ashley was definitely putting in the effort, and although it'd take a year or two, she'd get there. After all, he'd hardly joined the BAU in the most conventional fashion, who was he to judge?

Hotch flopped back into his chair, having finally shaken off the press.

"Missing JJ right about now?" quipped Rossi.

"As soon as we get back, I'm getting on to Strauss about finding a new media liaison. Any new leads?"

As Rossi and Seaver brought him up to speed, Morgan leant on the back of Reid's chair.

"Now princess, there's no need for that kind of language." The high pitched noise coming through the phone got louder. "Or that! Do we need to get you a swear jar woman? Alright, I'll talk to you later. Give me a call if you do find something? Thanks."

Morgan sighed as he dropped his phone to the table with a clatter. "Garcia's got nothing, and she's not happy about it."

Nobody mentioned it, but the hole in the room was Emily. It was times like this when you wondered what she would have picked up on, what she'd have seen that you'd missed. Except for once, his brain kept going. What would Elle have had to say? Unconsciously he traced the outline of the card in his wallet. Tonight. Tonight he'd call her.


End file.
